


I Am...

by amorluzymelodia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hospital, Hospitalization, Kidnapping, Medical Ward, Medicine, Physical Abuse, Pills, Psych Ward, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Suicide mention, Torture, cursing, ongoing abuse, psychiatric ward, self harm mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:38:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12430044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorluzymelodia/pseuds/amorluzymelodia
Summary: You're a unique patient in a psych ward, and while on a case Sam and Dean stumble upon you. Turns out you have a lot more to do with the supernatural world than any of you could have imagined. What is your connection to Castiel? Why do you know so much about monsters? What exactly are you?A/N: Had this idea and kind of ran with it. Purposefully keeping the summary and title sort of vague to add to the intrigue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are for the entire fic, and may not appear in every chapter.

“Okay Y/N time for meds,” the nurse popped her head in—way too cheery for the night shift on a psych ward—and handed you a small paper cup on a metal tray.

You knew by this point that arguing would only result in a night spent in solitary with an IV drip in your arm, so you just accepted the cup and swallowed the pills.

The nurse—an older woman named Ruth—nodded at you and smiled when you opened your mouth and lifted your tongue to show you'd taken the pills. When you'd first arrived you'd been notorious for hiding the meds they gave you, and they'd learned to monitor you closely. 

“Doc will be in in a jiffy.” she said happily, giving you a patronizing look before leaving your room. 

“Goody.” you said to the empty room, falling back on your bed and resuming staring at the ceiling, throwing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it with ease. 

Someone screamed down the hall, and you knew Ruth was attempting to give Gertie her evening meds, and no doubt Gertie saw the small blue tablets as poison or snails or whatever else her brain concocted today. Ruth would just call Alan to come sedate her and Gertie would turn into a slightly comatose mess for the next four hours, until her nightmares woke her up, like clockwork. A man shuffled by your door slowly.

“Hey, Terrence." you called quietly, and he turned his glassy eyes towards the sound of your voice. He could barely see, and he only really talked to himself, but he always stopped talking and listened when you spoke to him, even if only for a moment. 

“Y/N.” he whispered, his eyes darting all around your room, and you idly wondered if he was following moving shapes or entities, or if the shaking in his hands had migrated to his eyes and he couldn't control it. “It's raining.” he said, even though he wasn't looking at the small window in the corner—too small to fix through, to high to reach, and glass that wouldn't break no matter how hard you hit it. 

“It's always raining, Terrence.” you told him, not unkindly. “It's Seattle. That's all it ever does here.”

That seemed like too much conversation for Terrence, for he just mumbled something to himself, and shuffled out of your room and down the hall again.

Once Terrence had left you went back to tossing the ball up and catching it. Technically you weren’t supposed to have the tennis ball outside of group gym time but one of the orderlies on the night shift had taken pity on you and snuck you one. When Doctor Monaco had found out he wasn’t even mad, just made you promise not to do anything stupid. You’d promised but rolled your eyes; how could you hurt yourself with a squishy, old tennis ball? Tossing the ball was better than being out in the group room doing kindergarten arts and crafts or playing an outdated board game, that was for sure.

There was a knock at your door but you didn’t look up, knowing exactly who it was.

“Hey, Doc.” You said and Doctor Jason Monaco entered the room and sat down next to you on the bed, clipboard in hand.

“Y/N.” he greeted you, ever formal and ever efficient—no time for small talk. “How was your day today?”

“Oh oodles of fun.” You said sarcastically, still tossing the ball. “Phil and I are getting married didn’t you hear?”

Phil was an elderly patient across the hall from you who regularly confused you with his wife—a woman he’d killed thirty years ago in order to “protect her from the zombie apocalypse”. When he’d tried to off himself however, he’d gotten cold feet and the bullet didn’t quite do its job, resulting in permanent brain damage that made him prone to violent outbursts and memory loss.

Dr. Monaco nodded knowingly. “Yes, he did mention something about that. What did you do today?” he asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.

“Morning meds, breakfast, group session, art therapy, lunch, gym time, free time, went to the clinic, dinner.” You said in a monotone.

The answers rolled off your tongue with ease. It wasn’t like your daily schedule really changed all that much anyway, and if it did Monaco would be the one changing it. He was really asking to test your memory or some other bullshit, like he did with all the patients. Like if you said you hung out with the Loch Ness Monster and flew in a hot air balloon he’d up your meds and make you go to private therapy instead of group.

Monaco made a note on his clipboard. “And how’s the anxiety?”

“Manageable.” You answered and the two of you fell into a routine of asking and answering questions.

“Depression level?”

“Low to moderate.”

“Getting along with everyone else?”

“Yep.”

“Taking your meds? Eating?”

“Check and check.”

“Sleep pattern normal? Any nightmares?”

You hesitated and he noticed, looking up at you over his glasses.

“Y/N?” he asked. “Are you having nightmares?”

You stopped throwing the ball and picked at the fraying green felt, staring at the ceiling.

“I always have nightmares.” You reminded him but he didn’t let it go.

“Are they getting worse?” he flipped through some pages on his clipboard. “Maybe we need to adjust your meds.”

“No!” you cried, sitting up quickly.

“If you won’t talk to me I have no other option, Y/N.” he said and you sighed, adjusting so you were sitting cross-legged.

“They aren’t really _worse_ ,” you told him. “Just…different.”

He started writing on his clipboard and you scratched harder at your wrists. You hated feeling like an experiment, like a test subject.

“Different how?” he pressed.

You shrugged. “They’re…more vivid. And there’s different characters this time.”

“Go on,” he said.

A long time ago Dr. Monaco had gotten you to start calling the creatures, people and monsters in your nightmares “characters” to establish that they weren’t real. When they’d first brought you in you’d maintained that the nightmares were really memories, but when you’d started to mention demons and vampires and the like, they’d assumed you’d made it all up. And why wouldn’t they? Monsters didn’t exist. Not according to them at least.

“There’s new characters. Ones I don’t recognize. But…they seem to know me.”

“What do they do in your dreams?” he asked.

You were getting agitated and anxious, talking about this. The nightmares weren’t particularly fun to have, let alone discuss after the fact. Not to mention that when he talked about them with you, it felt so clinical. Even when he assured you that they weren’t real, it felt like he was talking to a child, complaining about the monster in her closet. If only he knew how real your monsters were. Dr. Monaco noticed you scratching at your wrists, which were getting red and irritated, and he gently placed a hand on top of yours and your entire body tensed up. But you refrained from pulling away, remembering how that would only result in more pain for you. It was a habit you hadn’t been able to shake.

“It’s alright, Y/N.” he said slowly, calmly, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “You’re safe here.”

As much as you wanted to nod and agree with him, placate him enough to leave you alone, there was something that truly scared you about these new nightmares, and you didn’t want to have them anymore. Maybe talking about them would help this time?

“No, I’m not.” You shook your head, swallowing hard against the tears that formed behind your eyes. “They’ll find me. They have my scent, and they don’t give up easily. You’re designed to keep us _in_ , not to keep the monsters _out_.” You spoke passionately but he remained unfazed.

“Y/N,” his tone was slightly patronizing, but you'd grown to expect that from him, and almost everyone who talked to you in here. Ironically, the only ones who treated you with any semblance of normality were the other patients. “You experienced years of abuse at the hands of horrible, manipulative people. But that's all they were; _people_. And they’re gone. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

No. He was wrong. And you knew it. But he didn’t believe you, and truthfully you couldn’t blame him. If you hadn’t seen the things you had, you wouldn’t believe you either. But after what had happened to you, what had been done…there was little you didn’t believe anymore. Even the most ridiculous stories seemed possible to you now.

But Dr. Monaco didn’t believe you, and probably never would. So you just nodded and took a deep breath, pretending that his patronizing had reassured you.

“You’re right.” you lied. “I know.”

Dr. Monaco took his hand off of yours and sat back, flipping through his clipboard again. As much as you wanted to resume scratching at your wrists, you didn’t—he would just make you talk about it. 

“So talk to me about your visit to the clinic today.” He continued. “Nurse Doherty said they had to sedate you?”

“I had a…flashback.” You explained, only slightly ashamed. “Post traumatic stress disorder and all that.” You rambled off his diagnosis from years ago of PTSD, hoping that would placate him. But he just cocked his head and sighed.

“She said you were yelling, speaking to someone who wasn’t there. Was it someone from your nightmares? Are you seeing things again, Y/N?”

“Yeah I guess he was from the nightmare.” You mumbled, wanting nothing more than to have this stupid interrogation over with.

“You know he can’t hurt you.” Monaco told you. “He isn’t real.”

“That’s the weird thing, and I guess that’s why it was so freaky.” It was difficult to explain but you were trying. “I’m used to the characters in my dreams trying to hurt me, and I kinda expect it at this point. But this one he…he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He just like followed me around, like he wanted to talk to me.”

Monaco was scribbling away and you wondered how his hand didn’t cramp up. “And what does he say to you?”

You shrugged. “Not much. He just kept saying my name and…”

He looked up at you over his glasses. “And?”

“He said something else too…I think it was his name.”

Monaco looked at you expectantly. “And what was his name, Y/N?”

You hesitated and took a deep breath, speaking quietly.

“His name was Castiel.”


	2. Chapter 2

Since your talk with Dr. Monaco he’d assigned you to daily one-on-one therapy sessions and added a sleep aid to your medication regimen. The last thing you wanted was more pills, especially seeing as how they didn’t stop the nightmares, just made it harder for you to wake up from them. After a week you were more exhausted than ever, and the daily therapy sessions only caused your anxiety to flare up and cut in to your free time. Even if free time consisted of reading outdated books with some of the pages missing or being forced to play yet another game of Connect-Four, it was preferable to relaying your nightmares again, again and again. Whoever this Castiel was, he had never been in any of them before, and this seemed to intrigue Doctor Monaco. Add the fact that this mysterious “character” didn’t seem intent on hurting you, and it was enough to keep Dr. Monaco’s questions rolling.

He was convinced this Castiel was your brain’s attempt at dealing with the trauma you’d suffered, and that he represented the part of your mind that wanted to keep fighting, and had protected you when you were younger.

“Now that you’re safe, your mind is allowing itself to deal with the trauma you experienced, and this new character has come to light to help you deal with it.” Monaco was saying in one of your bullshit sessions. All you wanted to do was go back to your room and toss the tennis ball until you passed out.

“That, in addition to your regulated mood and less frequent episodes is very promising. Your recovery is going quite well.” He continued.

You scoffed. You’d heard that before, and you decided to test him. “Cool. So let me out.”

Monaco made the face that you knew meant he was trying not to roll his eyes and sighed.

“I think you know that isn’t a good idea.” He said carefully, phrasing it like it was your idea, so you couldn’t get angry at him.

“You just said I’m doing better. So I don’t need to be here anymore, right?”

He took his glasses off and rubbed where they’d left indents on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re right, you are doing better. Much better. But we still don’t know the full affects that years of abuse had on you, and until your…delusions cease, we can’t release you.”

“You think I’m dangerous.” It wasn’t a question; you knew he did.

"To yourself and to others.” At least he didn’t deny it. “I don’t believe you would ever _intend_ to hurt someone, but you are still having hallucinations, and while you still hold to the notion that you were held by monsters…” he watched for a reaction, and you only clenched your jaw and refused to look at him. That seemed to be enough of a reaction, however. “While you still believe that, we cannot release you.”

“Cool, thanks Warden.” You said sarcastically and Monaco sighed.

“I don’t do this to hurt you, Y/N.” he said slowly, calmly. “I want to help you. Keep you safe.”

“ _They_ said that too.” you whispered, angry and anxious and frustrated. “How are you any different than them?”

Monaco had seen you like this before—and worse—and it didn’t faze him. “By ‘they’ do you mean the people who kidnapped and abused you?”

“You _know_ I do.” It came out as a growl now. “They raised me to think that they were _protecting_ me. That everything they were doing was for my benefit. Sounds a lot like what you’re doing Doctor.”

“The difference is, Y/N, that I am not lying to you. When I say I have your best interests at heart, I am telling you the honest truth. They shackled you to the floor, beat you—“

“I know what they did.” You spat, not wanting him to continue.

“And I can promise you that no one will ever do that to you ever again.” He said passionately. “Not while you are here. But I you need to trust me. I know that does not come easily to you, but after seven years I like to think I’ve gained at least some of your trust.”

You nodded begrudgingly, knowing he was right.

“I’m tired.” You said simply.

Monaco nodded and closed his notes, knowing that he wouldn’t get anything from you the rest of the night. He stood up and opened the door for you, where there was a nurse waiting for you.

“You’re doing well, Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, and you nodded once, before letting the nurse walk you back to the day room.

“So,” the nurse said. “Still crazy?” he asked and you huffed a laugh.

“Still crazy.” You echoed and he laughed.

His name was Carter and he was the only person you could actually say you considered a friend. He was close to your age, attractive, friendly, and treated you somewhat normally. The two of you actually talked about things like movies and how his husband always hogged the covers, or how you wanted to dye your hair teal one day. But you never talked about your past, your therapy, or your diagnosis. It made you feel like a real person, and not a patient in a psych ward. Carter had told you, when he’d first started working here, that he’d listen to whatever you wanted to tell him, help in any way he could, but he’d never ask first, or make you do anything you were uncomfortable with. You appreciated that immensely.

“We got a newbie today,” Carter said nonchalantly as the two of you made your way to the dayroom.

“Yeah? What’s wrong with ‘em?” you asked and Carter just rolled his eyes.

“You know I can’t discuss other patient’s files with you.” He said, unwrapping a piece of gum and handing it to you before popping some in his own mouth.

You grinned. “In other words, you don’t know.” You guessed and he shook his head.

“No idea. Doc Monaco won’t say and the new guy isn’t marked a risk so I don’t ask.”

By now you were at the clinic and Carter popped in to get your midday medications. Once you’d taken those—and proven you’d taken them—you headed to the dayroom where you plopped down on the couch and grabbed the book you’d left there earlier.

“I’m off for a few days starting tomorrow,” Carter told you. “Brett and I are going to see his family.”

“Hope you guys have fun,” you told him.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” he promised you, smiling but knowing better than to touch you. “See ya, Y/N/N.” Before he walked away however, he pointed to a man across the room. “By the way, there’s our new friend.”

You grinned at him in thanks and stood up, making your way over to where the new guy was sitting. Even though you weren’t quite sure how it happened, you’d become the unofficial greeter for new patients. Maybe it was because you were so desperate for human contact—after having been kept in a basement for the first sixteen years of your life—that you sought any that you could find. Or maybe it was just because you were considered the most “sane” out of the patients—well, as sane as you could be in a psychiatric facility.

As you walked up you could tell he was aware of your approach. The tension in his shoulders changed, and his head inclined slightly to the left, like he was checking his peripheral for attackers. Paranoid much? Well, you definitely had that in common.

Instead of sitting next to him on the couch, you chose to sit in the bay window, facing your body towards him, but not in an intimidating manner. Dr. Monaco had worked with you on your “people skills” for a long time when you’d first arrived—seeing as how you’d tried to bite or hit anyone that came too close—and you were trying to appear as friendly as was possible for you. Which on most occasions wasn’t very.

“Hey,” you said quietly, looking at him and he turned his head towards you. “I’m Y/N.”

“Dean.” He said, and holy hell if his voice wasn’t deep. He had tousled blonde hair, a sharp jaw line and some of the greenest eyes you’d ever seen. He was definitely attractive, but you didn’t let that faze you. You’d known incredibly beautiful people, who had the ugliest souls, so you’d learned to never let appearance speak first.

“First day?” you asked, toying with a stress ball someone had left on the bench.

Dean blew out a breath. “In the loony-bin? Not exactly.”

You grinned at him. “Frequent flyer huh?”

He shrugged. “I been around the block a few times. You?”

You shook your head. “Naw, I’m in what they like to call ‘sub-acute level of care’ which means I’m too crazy to be released, but they don’t have to lock me up unless I cause trouble.”

“Sounds intense.” He said, eyebrows creasing.

You shrugged. “So, what level of crazy are you?” you asked and he laughed slightly, seeming unsure what to make of you. Well, no surprise there, so was everyone else—yourself included.

“On a scale of one to ten?” he asked and mulled it over for a second. “Twelve.”

“Doesn’t top my fifteen.” You said and Dean laughed again. “So seriously, what’s your deal? Voices? Drugs? Sudden, inescapable longing to taste human flesh?”

Dean wrinkled his nose at you and shook his head.

“I uh, I’ve been seein’ things.” He said, leaning forward slightly. “Thing that aren’t there. Guess I got tired of trying to figure out what’s real and what ain’t.”

“Voluntary check in, huh?” you guessed and he nodded then inclined his head towards you, eyebrows raised. “I’m in for the long haul. Can’t leave ‘til Doc Monaco deems me fit, which won’t be any time soon.”

Dean leaned back against the couch, looking oddly relaxed for being in a mental ward.

“How long you been here, Y/N?” he was prying, curious, you could tell. But you’d gotten over people looking at you like a specimen in an exhibit, or talking to you like a child. After this long you weren’t sure you knew any other way to be treated.

“Going on seven years now.” That seemed to surprise him, as it did most people.

“What for?” Dean leaned forward expectantly but just then there was a flash of lightning outside of the window, accompanied by a clap of thunder and you tensed up and started shaking violently. Storms had always bothered you, but you lately it was heightened due to the nightmares and increased tests the doctors were doing, your nerves were like live wires, set off by the smallest thing.

It took you a moment to calm yourself down enough, but just as you were about to answer Dean, you heard those voices again in your head. They weren’t even talking to you, just squabbling among themselves, but they were loud, angry and you gripped your hair, begging them to stop.

Before you knew it, you were back in that basement, chains at your feet and the smell of urine and blood surrounding you.

_"Focus, Asa!” Andras yelled at you, and you tried not to flinch, knowing it would end with his fist in your stomach or a whip on your back._

_You focused on the man in front of you, tied to a chair, gagged, and crying. Whatever you were supposed to be doing to him wasn’t working, which made them angry. When you collapsed on the ground, panting and with blood running from your nose down your chin, Andras just sighed and with one flick of his wrist, snapped the man’s neck._

_“Get rid of that.” He told Seir and Avoth, who untied the man and dragged his broken body out of the room, leaving you alone with Andras._

_"I—I’m sorry.” You panted. Tears now accompanied the blood and sweat running down your face. “It’s…too hard.”_

_"Or you’re not trying hard enough.” Andras was angry, that much you could tell. The last three times hadn’t worked, and he was getting impatient with you. “You know what this means, don’t you Asa?”_

_The pit of your stomach felt like there was rock in it as he stepped towards you and you steeled yourself for your punishment, trying not to scream._

“Y/N!” someone was screaming at you, shaking your shoulders. “Y/N!”

On instinct your fist went out, and your knuckles made contact with something hard, feeling it crunch, before someone had pinned your arms behind your back and pulled you to the ground. Amongst the swirling black smoke and screaming, you thought you could make out another voice calling your name. It was gentler, deeper than the others, and you only barely recognized it.

_“Castiel!”_ you thought, trying to call out to him through the fog of your dreams.

As you gained some clarity your eyes popped open and you now realized you were on the floor of the day room, Dean and a few orderlies and nurses surrounding you. A nurse had your arms pinned behind you and Dean was being held back by another, looking terrified.

“Don’t touch me!” you screamed. “Don’t _fucking_ touch me! _Get off_!”

The nurse made no move to release you and whispered harshly in your ear. “Not until you calm down, girlie.” He said gruffly and you thrashed against his hold.

“Let her go, man!” Dean said, and he almost sounded angry. “She didn’t do anything!”

“Tell that to my nose,” an orderly behind Dean whined, and you now saw him holding a bloody hand over what was probably a broken nose. “She’s psychotic! Shouldn’t be allowed ‘round _normal_ people.”

“Richard!” someone scolded and you saw Dr. Monaco standing behind him, a tall man you’d never seen before at his side. “That was uncalled for.”

Richard deflated and took a step back. “Sorry, Doc.” He said lamely and with a look from the Doctor, went off to tend to his broken nose. There was sick sense of pride in knowing you’d hurt him, but you tried to shove that down. If you allowed that part of yourself to rise up, you’d become just what they’d tried to make you so long ago.

The arrival of Dr. Monaco made you feel somewhat more at ease and you finally stopped struggling. The nurse holding Dean let him go, but you were still contained. Not surprisingly, only one or two of the other patients had even moved during your tirade. Either they were too out of it to notice, or they simply didn’t care. Outbursts like yours happened all the time around here, so for them it was common place.

Dr. Monaco squatted down in front of you and spoke quietly and gently.

“Y/N. If Jerry lets you go can you be calm?” he asked softly and though your anxiety was hardly lessened with Jerry’s hot breath on your neck, you closed your eyes and nodded slowly, taking a long deep breath to show that you were trying. Dr. Monaco nodded to Jerry, who released you slowly, and you collapsed on the floor, leaning against the couch. Dr. Monaco nodded to Jerry, who gave you a long look before walking away, leaving you alone with Dean and the doctor.

“There now,” Monaco said while you caught your breath. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asked quietly, going through the motions of trying to ground you back into reality, and break the spell of your panic.

“Swedish Medical Center. Seattle, Washington.” You whispered, head between your knees and your hands covering your ears loosely—it was a position that made you feel safe, and offered at least the illusion of protection.

“Good. And what’s your name?” Monaco asked and though you knew the answer he wanted, you were too exhausted and strung out so you glared up at him through your lashes, still wet with tears.

“Asa,” you hissed and Doctor Monaco’s eyes hardened, knowing exactly what was happening.

It hadn’t happened in a while, a long time actually. But there were times where you would go into a sort of trance, like part of your mind shut down and the darker, angrier part of your mind took over. It wasn’t different personalities, it was still you, but it was like the part of your brain that held all of your darkest thoughts and impulses took complete control. It was often these times when you’d end up being sedated and kept apart from the other patients for their safety.

Doctor Monaco saw what was happening and called Jerry back over, along with another orderly and a security guard. As they hurried over, the laugh that came from your throat was twisted and sarcastic.

“Gotta call in the cavalry huh, Doc?” you taunted. “What does it say about you? That you can’t even help your inmates? Oh, excuse me… _patients_.” You corrected but laughed again.

“Y/N…” Monaco spoke quietly and slowly but you just clenched your jaw and sighed.

“ _Asa_.” A dark haze was clouding your vision and though a part of you knew you should fight it, you were just too exhausted to try. “I’m Asa, or have you forgotten?”

Monaco was unfazed by your outburst, though you could tell the orderlies were getting steadily closer to you, ready to intervene at any moment. “They _called_ you Asa. That isn’t your name anymore. You’re safe, Y/N. You’re safe here.”

“You’re not,” another laugh forced its way up your throat. “You think you’re all safe here, but you have _no idea_ what I can do. I could rip you all to shreds if I wanted to…it’s what I’m meant for.”

Monaco got closer to you and reached out a hesitant hand. “I know you don’t want to do that, Y/N.” his voice was soft, placating, which was just making you angrier. “The people who made you do those things, they’re gone, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Pain makes you stronger,” the black haze clouding your vision was getting darker and darker.

“That’s Andras talking, not you, Y/N.”

“Andras cared about me. He made me strong, showed me my full potential.” Your head tilted to the side. “And honestly _Doc_ …I’m getting real tired of being locked up.”

Just as you made to pounce on him, intent on causing him whatever harm you could, an orderly jumped on you and stuck a needle in your neck, injecting you with a powerful sedative that took effect almost instantly, though you were laughing the whole way down to the floor. Before you passed out, you saw Dean staring at you like he’d seen a ghost.


	3. Chapter 3

When you were younger, you spent a lot of time being afraid. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of the people you lived with, afraid of yourself. But at some point, amidst the madness and torture, you decided to ignore it. Fear did nothing for you, it only made you weak. At least that’s what Andras had told you. So, you buried the fear deep down, and attempted to ignore it, even when Avoth would chain you up, or Seir would bring in some poor shmuck for you to “experiment” on. It some convoluted way, you thought that made you brave, made you strong. And for a while you believed it.

But the truth is, fear makes you stronger. For without fear there can be no courage. It took you years to learn that, and to unlearn all the bullshit that those monsters had burned into your brain. Nowadays you hardly got scared anymore, though when you did, you allowed the fear to come in, run its course, and then you let it go. Because you spent too much of your life being controlled by monsters, you weren’t about to let something as trivial as _fear_ stop you now.

Of course, that’s all well and good when you’re of a sound mind. But for nights like tonight, when you’re in a semi-catatonic state of drug-induced haze, you can barely tell what’s real and what’s not and your brain isn’t all that prepared for handling the fear. At first it was just flashes, sights, smells and sounds from your past that reared their ugly heads, and you attempted to push them away. That worked for a bit, until your weary body decided to fall unconscious again. Unfortunately, dreams were harder to ignore. Though, they were more memories than anything else.

_There was movement upstairs, the sounds of yelling, fighting, killing. Though these weren’t necessarily uncommon sounds to you, you noticed a few voices you didn’t recognize. Your heart started pounding, wondering what fresh hell awaited you today. The burn marks from yesterday had just healed and you weren’t particularly looking forward to more. Andras was out—you didn’t ask where—and Avoth and Seir were bored, so Seir had held your arm over a flame, intrigued as he watched the skin burn, then heal right before his eyes. Granted, you didn’t heal as fast as they did, but most wounds didn’t hang around for long. The exceptions of course were the cuts that the shackles left—you wondered if that had something to do with the symbols engraved in the metal. Not to mention the cuts that Andras gave you with his blade. Whatever it was made of hurt like a bitch and took much longer to heal. Though, nothing scarred you for whatever reason._

_Someone kicking the locked cellar door open shocked you out of your thoughts and you glared up at the shadowy figure. Part of you hoped that whoever it was was here to kill you. To end it once and for all. But then you remembered what Sitri had told you over and over again; you were special, and meant to change the world. It was all bullshit in your opinion, she’d been telling you that since you were a child and nothing had come of it. You attempted to keep yourself from hoping it was true, seeing as how hope could be shattered so easily._

_The mysterious figure descended the stairs and you saw a gun in his hands. You wondered how he’d survived with a gun, seeing as how bullets wouldn’t hurt anyone in the house. Though you idly wondered how long a bullet wound would take to heal if you happened to be shot._

_"What the hell?” the man barked gruffly, upon seeing you on the floor. He lowered his gun, but didn’t put it away. “What are you doin’ down here, kid?” he asked and moved closer._

_As he squatted down in front of you, you noticed his scruffy beard, brown smattered with some grey and his kind, if road-weary eyes. He was wearing a baseball cap and a beat up plaid shirt, and smelled like gunpowder and spice. His sudden appearance confused you. They hadn’t sent anyone in a while, and when they did it was never someone kind, and never someone you didn’t recognize. In your whole life you’d only seen maybe ten different faces, each of them terrifying. That didn’t include the faces of the people they made you torture however…those were faces you could never forget. No matter how much you wanted to._

_“Hey, hey I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He moved carefully, reaching out to you slowly and you pulled back, pressing yourself against the wall. The chains rattled and scraped along the concrete floor when you moved and his eyes found them instantly, following the trail from where they were anchored into the floor to your bloody, shackled wrists._

_“What in the hell?” He breathed, picking at the chain on the floor, causing you to flinch back and tug at it. “Rufus get down here!” He called and looked at you apologetically when you flinched._

_Another man came pounding down the stairs. He had dark skin and an earring in one ear and he had a gun raised. That puzzled you, why would they need guns? If they were like the others then they had their abilities and other tools at their disposal to hurt you._

_“You find another one Bob?” He asked and then saw you chained to the floor. “Son of a bitch. Who’s this?”_

_“You think I know?” The one called Bob said gruffly._

_The one with the earring—Rufus—squatted down and looked at you with his head cocked._

_“Think this is why they were holed up here?” He asked Bob._

_“What would they want with a kid?” Bob demanded, looking around the room._

_Rufus touched the chair in the center of the room hesitantly taking in the rest of the room. There wasn’t much, an old bed in the corner, a bathroom near the stairs, but that was about it._

_“How long you been here, kid?” he was clearly suspicious but you wouldn’t answer, not knowing how it would end for you if you did. “Those monsters upstairs bring you here?”_

_“Are they dead?” you asked, your voice hoarse and it seemed to shock the two men._

_The one called Bob nodded. “They can’t hurt you no more.” He said kindly but you narrowed your eyes._

_“Guns won’t kill them.” The two men seemed surprised by your statement and shared a long look before Bob spoke carefully._

_“We’re gonna get you out of here okay, sweetheart?” he reached towards you slowly._

_Though his voice was kind, and it seemed as though he meant you no harm, your vision went black and you lashed at him._

You jolted awake from the nightmare, sweating and breathing hard. It felt as though there was a thin layer of electric current running over your skin and you struggled against the padded hand and ankle cuffs that bound you to your bed. The drugs in your system were making your brain cloudy, but you tried to push past it, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision.

“Ah, good! You’re awake.”

Nurse Doherty’s shrill voice made your head ring and you closed your eyes again tightly. When she came near you with a small flashlight and a thermometer you thrashed against the bonds, but all she did was turn up a dial on your meds and after a few moments you felt a wave of exhaustion crash over you, though you didn’t fall asleep this time. Nurse Doherty shined the flashlight in both eyes, checked your pulse and temperature and wrote something down on her clipboard. If you could say anything about the bossy, obsessive woman, it was that she was thorough.  

“Doctor Monaco said you threw quite the fit, young lady.” She scolded and if you weren’t so exhausted you would’ve rolled your eyes. “You’ve been quite excitable lately.”

“If having PTSD flashbacks and voices in your head classifies as ‘excitable’ then sure.” You deadpanned but she ignored you, filing a few papers and checking that your restraints were secure. When she was done she patted your hand lightly.

“Just relax,” though her voice was sincere, you scoffed at her advice. You’d never relaxed a day in your life, and being strapped to a bed in a psych ward was hardly the optimal environment to start.

Nurse Doherty left you alone when she was convinced you were somewhat calm again, assuring you she’d be back in a few minutes. The rain was falling lightly outside and you tried to take deep breaths and focus on that as the anxiety rose up in your chest. However, being alone with only your thoughts and the sound of the rain didn’t serve as an adequate distraction for long, and after a few minutes you started to hear a quiet voice calling your name. There was no point in hoping that it was someone down the hall, or anyone that you could see or touch. Over the last few weeks you’d memorized the sound of this voice, and now you’d know it anywhere.

“Castiel?” you said out loud, hoping that actually speaking his name might somehow make him real. As the dreams continued and the flashbacks persisted you were getting increasingly nervous and confused. “Who are you? What do you want?” you asked desperately. When no one answered you tried to calm down again, closing your eyes and a few tears leaked out. “ _Please_ …” you begged. “Just…tell me what you want. Castiel, please.”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice cut into your focus and you opened your eyes in shock. He was standing in your doorway, looking concerned. “Who were you talking to?” he asked, though to ask someone in a psych ward that question was laughable.

“No fucking clue,” you answered grimly and sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see how you were,” he shrugged, still hovering in the doorway. “That was pretty intense out there.”

“Just another day in paradise.” Though you answered sarcastically, tears pricked at your eyes and you took a long, shaky breath.

“Hey,” Dean stepped into the room, noticing that something was wrong. “What’s up?”

You stared at the ceiling, not wanting to look at him as you clenched your fists to try and ground yourself. “Not a huge fan of being tied up…” was all the answer you gave and Dean’s eyes flicked to your bound wrists and ankles, and then to the hallway.

“I could get you out of those, if you wanted.”

His offer shocked you but after a moment of deliberation you shook your head.

“No sense dragging you into my bullshit,” you said but gave him a look of gratitude. “Thanks though.” Dean stood there awkwardly for a second and you rolled your eyes. “Move it or lose it, Dean-o.”

Dean chuckled and leaned against the wall next to your bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’d they restrain you anyway?” he asked bluntly.

“’For my safety and the safety of others’” you echoed Doctor Monaco’s words and then shrugged. “Containment. They’ve gotta keep the crazy under lock and key. When the drugs don’t work they resort to imprisonment.”

“Seems harsh.” Dean noted.

“I’ve seen worse,” the drugs in your system made you talk without thinking, but at this point you didn’t care.

Dean looked confused but didn’t ask anything, though you could see that he desperately wanted to. The two of you were silent for a few minutes.

“I pulled my brother out of a fire,” he said suddenly. “There was a fire in his nursery, and my dad put him in my arms and told me to get him outside, while he went in and got my mom. But, he didn’t make it in time…” he paused. “Watching your entire live go up in flames like that…it’ll mess anyone up.”

“How old were you?” you asked quietly.

“Four,” he answered. “Sammy was barely six months.”

“Jesus,” you breathed. “Is that when you started seeing things?”

Dean shrugged again and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you see your mom?” your voice was quiet and your question seemed to shock Dean.

“Uh, sometimes…” it was clear he didn’t like talking about her. But at least he had a mother to remember, you’d never known yours. At least, not who she was supposed to be. At the thought of your mother, another memory crashed over you.

It was one of your earliest memories; you couldn’t have been more than one year old. There was screaming, things being thrown, and your mother holding you tight to her chest. Then there was a flash of blue light and someone ripped you from your mother’s arms, before another flash, this time yellow-ish orange, and you remembered looking up into dark eyes.

Dean put his hand on your shoulder and you flinched, his touch pulling you back to reality. “Hey, you with me?” he asked, half concerned, half confused and you shook him off. “Who is Castiel?” he asked after a moment and you snapped your head towards him.

“What?” you demanded, your heart rate picking up rapidly.

Dean shrugged but there was something about the way he spoke, and moved that made you think he wasn’t asking out of pure curiosity. “You said his name right before I walked in, and before, in the dayroom. Who is he?” something in his tone made you suspicious, but it was possible he could just be searching for gossip.

“I don’t know,” you said hesitantly. “He’s no one.”

Dean apparently couldn’t let it go, though. “He someone from your past?”

You closed your eyes and squeezed them together tightly. It was one thing to have Doc Monaco asking you about Castiel, but someone else, who didn’t know you nonetheless, was too much. Dean either couldn’t get the hint when you didn’t answer, or he just didn’t care, and pressed on.

“He a family member? Brother maybe?” he was wording his questions carefully, which only served to make you more suspicious, with only added to your paranoia.

“I don’t know!” The overhead light shattered when you cried out, raining glass down on you and Dean and casting you both into a hazy twilight, with only the hall light and occasional lighting to illuminate the room. It was still enough for you to see Dean’s eyes go wide with recognition, though what he was putting together in his mind. Before he could attack you with more questions, however, Nurse Doherty rushed back in, with an orderly close behind her. They took one look at you and Dean, breathing hard, and Dean obviously having just jumped up from a seat on your bed.

“The light shattered,” Dean offered lamely and they both seemed to relax slightly.

“Dean maybe we should have Alan take you back to your room, while we get this cleaned up.” Doherty suggested and while Dean clearly didn’t want to leave, he nodded hesitantly, and left with an odd look on his face.

“You alright, honey?” Nurse Doherty asked once they men had left.

There were a few cuts on your arms and face from the glass, but nothing that would require stitches, or even a bandage. In truth, the light shattering couldn’t have come at a more opportune time, seeing as how Dean’s questions were starting to freak you out. Not as much though, as his reaction to when the light blew.

Why had he looked at you like he knew exactly who you were? And why did it look like that scared him to all Hell?


	4. Chapter 4

In the week since your “episode” you had only seen Dean a handful of times, and only ever in passing. Part of you wondered if Doc Monaco had specified that the two of you not be left alone together, which seemed silly as nothing had even happened between you two. All you knew was that this mysterious Dean asked a lot of questions, questions that you weren’t even sure you knew the answer to. The look Dean had given you as he’d left the room swirled around your head. Who was this Castiel and why was Dean so obsessed with him? It seemed futile to hope that he was only asking because he was nosy, just as it was almost impossible that the light shattering right as you’d gotten angry had been a coincidence. Something like that hadn’t happened in a long time; you were usually better at controlling yourself. When you’d first arrived here your behavior and moods were erratic and it seemed like something was shattering or breaking every other day, always in your room, and always when you were aggravated or overcome with emotions, regardless of what those emotions might be. But lately you’d been able to keep yourself calm, or maybe the drugs they had you on were finally working.

That was something else you weren’t sure about, the medications. At first, they’d put you on everything under the sun, though they had to keep upping the dosages because it seemed the meds had no effect on you. Something about your levels being off, though that made no sense to you, and you didn’t really care to ask. Eventually, however, your moods evened out and they limited some of your meds and took you off others completely. Either the meds started working the way they were supposed to, or you just got very good at hiding your emotional rollercoaster. Personally, you favored the latter.

After your little stunt in the dayroom your “free” time had been severely limited, which meant more one on one counseling, and heavily supervised group time. Otherwise you were locked in your room with only your ratty old tennis ball and thoughts to keep you company.

The rain had let up for once and you’d practically begged the orderly assigned to babysit you for a short walk outside. He’d been there since you’d first been admitted, and had worked with more difficult patients than you, so after a quick conversation with the doctor he’d agreed, though stipulated it could only be for thirty minutes around the courtyard. Swedish Medical Center had a small terrace courtyard that was rarely used and poorly kept but the fresh air was much needed and you were more than happy to just sit on one of the old picnic tables and take in the grey sky. The orderly—Bernard—left you alone to sit and think, just leaning against the concrete wall of the hospital with his hands in the pocket of his jacket, not saying anything.

There was a small bird hopping around the soggy leaves and gum wrappers that littered the courtyard and you watched her as she jumped around clumsily. Upon closer inspection, you realized she was hopping oddly because her wing was hurt and she couldn’t take off properly. She’d probably gotten knocked around during the storm and banged her wing on something. It was folded haphazardly against her back, like pulling it in all the way would hurt her. With a quick look to make sure Bernard was focused on the emails on his phone, you knelt down and held out your hand to her slowly. The little bird cocked her head at you in confusion before hopping towards you cautiously. When she jumped into your hand you brought it slowly closer to you, shielding your actions from Bernard and running a finger lightly over the bird’s soft head. Surprisingly she didn’t get scared or hop away from you when you touched her, she just tucked her feet under her and plopped down right in your palm. Even more shocking was that when you ran two fingers gently over her injured wing, testing to see if it was broken or not without hurting her, there was tiny shock of light, like you’d built up static electricity and shocked her. Both you, and the small creature jumped a bit before she stood up, shook both of her wings experimentally, and…flew off! She fluttered from your hand to the picnic table opposite you, and with a curious look on her little face she took off towards the upper roof, her wing seemingly fixed.

You stared at your hands in confusion. Had you just _healed_ that bird? Or was her wing not as injured as it seemed and perhaps just sore or tired? And what was that tiny shock you’d seen and felt when you touched her wing?  Yes, you knew you’d always been a quick healer, faster than other people from what you’d gathered, but you just attributed that to good genes not…anything else. Or maybe there was something else going on…something that perhaps could be passed on? Used to heal others?

“Okay, thirty minutes is up!” Bernard said and the sudden sound of his voice in the otherwise silent courtyard shocked you and you jumped slightly before standing up and following him inside.

Bernard walked you down the hall towards Dr. Monaco’s office, since you were now required to do daily therapy, plus supervised interactions twice a week. As you neared the end of the hallway you saw Dean talking heatedly with a tall man with long brown hair, dressed in dark jeans and a blazer. It was apparent from the way they were standing and talking that they knew each other. Maybe this was Dean’s therapist? The tall man had a visitor’s badge clipped onto his blazer and a clipboard under his arm. Yeah, probably a therapist or visiting psychologist from a clinic Dean used to go to. As you passed you tried to avert your eyes but seeing as how they were standing directly in front of Doctor Monaco’s office door you couldn’t exactly avoid them altogether.

The two men stopped talking abruptly as you walked up and turned their gazes on you. Bernard nodded to the taller man as you stopped outside the door.

“Dr. Smith.” He said and the tall man nodded back politely, clearly not remembering Bernard’s name but not wanting to be rude.

There was an awkward moment when Dr. Smith’s eyes met yours and you weren’t sure if you should introduce yourself or not. However, you were all saved the awkwardness when Dr. Monaco’s office door opened and he ushered another patient out before taking in the little group in front of him.

“Ah, good Y/N you’re here!” he said with enthusiasm that was just slightly too over the top to be real but you offered him a small smile all the same. “Dr. Samuel Smith, I presume?” he turned to the tall man and reached out to shake his hand. “Jason Monaco, pleasure to meet you.”

“Same to you,” Dr. Smith said charmingly.

“Well, please come in, Y/N.” Dr. Monaco said, opening his office door so you could enter and then speaking to Dean and Bernard.

“Bernard, you can take off early tonight. I’m sure Y/N will be fine for dinner and lights out. Dean, I’ll see you in an hour for our session.”

“Yeah, see ya Doc.” Dean said hesitantly before shooting Dr. Smith an odd look and following Bernard down the hallway, throwing you a look over his shoulder as he did so. 

“Y/N as you’ve probably gathered this is Dr. Samuel Smith.” Dr. Monaco said as you sat down in front of his desk and he closed the door.

Dr. Smith nodded to you and sat down opposite you in the other chair.

“Dr. Smith this is Y/N,” Monaco said, though that was probably obvious already.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Dr. Smith said, smiling at you and you realized that he was quite attractive, with a solid build and white teeth. Even the long hair worked on him flawlessly. However, that did little to put you at ease, and you focused on what Monaco had just said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Dr. Smith has taken a particular interest in your case, Y/N.” Dr. Monaco explained and you frowned.

“My case?” you asked Smith. “Why?”

Dr. Smith seemed taken aback by your forwardness but you weren’t about to let him take the reins. If he was so interested in you, you had a right to know why. Strangers made you nervous, especially ones who “took an interest” in you so quickly. In your experience, they almost always had ulterior motives.

“Uh, well I’m a psychologist,” he answered a bit awkwardly. “With a particular focus in religious ideations.”

“So basically, you work with crazy religious fanatics,” you said stonily. “Sorry to burst your bubble pal but God ain’t real.”

“Y/N,” Monaco warned you but Dr. Smith just held up his hand.

“It’s okay,” he said to Monaco and then looked back at you. “I don’t always focus on God, though that can be a part of it.” He sounded honest at least. “But I help people who have problems focused on other parts of religion. Various religions, not just Christianity.”

“But you’re here to talk to me.” You said, not wanting him to start with the religious psycho-babble. “Why?”

Monaco sighed, clearly put out by your abruptness but he’d known you long enough to know you weren’t going to beat around the bush, especially when you’d had limited social interaction over the last week. If this was going to be your only human contact, you weren’t going to chit-chat.

Smith gave a side glance to Monaco and then looked back at you, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Dr. Monaco tells me you’ve had some trouble determining fiction from reality?”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “If that’s what you’re looking for then pick a room, doc. Everyone here has that box checked on their form.”

Dr. Smith grinned at that. “But see, Y/N I’m particularly interested in a specific part of your trouble. It’s true you think you were held by monsters?”

You didn’t answer him, just folded your arms over your chest and bit your lip, though that seemed to be answer enough and he nodded.

“Demons, in particular. Right?” Smith prodded and you just glared at the floor.

“Dr. Smith is an expert in this, Y/N.” Dr. Monaco said, consolingly. “He said he has some ideas to trace back where these delusions came from and how to help you get past them.”

“They _aren’t delusions_.” You growled and the two men raised their eyebrows.

Dr. Smith paused a moment, studying your face with intensity. “Dr. Monaco do you mind if I talk to Y/N alone for a bit?”

Dr. Monaco raised his eyebrows and looked to you.

“Is that alright with you Y/N?” he asked, knowing how you were with strangers.

Though you were usually hesitant, you nodded and Doctor Monaco got up, shutting the door behind him quietly. When you and Dr. Smith were alone he turned his body towards you slightly, but still gave you space.

“How long have you been here, Y/N?” he asked and you shrugged.

“Why are you really here, Dr. Smith?” you asked abruptly.

“To help,” he said passionately and you almost rolled your eyes.

“Sorry Doc you can’t help me, but head on down the hall, I’m sure you’ll find a willing test subject for your next thesis.”

He sat back and laughed a bit. “You remind me of my brother,” he said when he saw the look of confusion on your face. “And you can call me Sam by the way.”

“Why are you so interested in me, Sam?” you asked again.

“You said the demons weren’t part of a delusion, right?” Sam asked and you nodded curtly. “Then what are they, Y/N?” you didn’t answer and he sighed. “I promise I’ve heard crazier. And I can promise to have an open mind no matter what you tell me.”

After a moment of hesitation, you spoke quietly. He probably wouldn’t believe you, but after all of these years you still held out hope that _someone_ would.  There was also a part of you that needed to hear yourself say it out loud, so you could remind yourself that it was real. That it had happened. “They aren’t delusions. They’re memories.”

Sam frowned. “You have memories of demons?” he asked hesitantly and you scratched at your wrists again. “Can you tell me about them?”

You were getting more and more agitated and you just shook your head and fiddled with your fingernails. “Look, you can cut the bullshit. I know no one believes me okay? Dr. Monaco is at the end of his rope with me so he called in a specialist. I know he wants me to say that demons aren’t real and I was tortured by plain old humans. He thinks the demon delusions are part of my PTSD but I _know_ what I saw. No humans could do what they did.”

Sam leaned forward conspiratorially. “Y/N I want you to listen to me, okay? I believe you. But I need you to tell me what happened to you.”

That was the first time anyone had said those words to you. That they believed you. Not “I believe that you believe it” or some other form of patronizing bullshit. Though that still wasn’t enough to get you to spill your entire fucked up life story to this strange doctor, which he seemed to realize.

“These demons…” Sam said carefully. “They had black eyes didn’t they?”

His words almost made your heart stop and your entire body tensed up, ready to defend yourself. Even though nothing about him had come off as threatening, that piece of information could only come to someone on the inside. And if he knew that…what else did he know?

“How do you know that?” you demanded, standing and, pushing back your chair abruptly. “Who are you?”

Sam stood up, holding his hands up to show he meant you no harm. “I’m a friend—“ he began but you scoffed, backing up towards the door.

“A friend of _who_?” you demanded, sure Andras or someone worse had sent him. When Sam didn’t answer right away you panicked. “Doctor Monaco!” you called loudly.

“Y/N, please I promise I’m not here to hurt you!” Sam said vehemently but you shook your head.

“Doctor!” you screamed and Doctor Monaco and an orderly burst in.

Sam immediately put up his hands and you didn’t even fight back when the orderly put a needle in your arm, welcoming the haze that clouded you over. However, it didn’t completely knock you out and as a nurse and the orderly led you back to your room you saw Sam staring after you, clearly confused and worried. They didn’t restrain you, after you assured them in a sluggish voice that you were just tired, and stressed, and just needed sleep. When you did sleep your dreams were full of black eyed demons and swirling black smoke, mixed with the red tint you knew was blood. At some point, you came out of the haze, in desperate need of the bathroom. As you were walking back to your room you heard hushed voices coming from a few doors down, and stopped to eavesdrop.

“So, she knows they were demons?” it was Dean, and based on the topic, you were fairly certain he was talking about you.

“From the way she reacted I would say yeah.” That was Sam’s voice. Why were they talking? And why were they talking about you? How did they know one another? If they were psychiatrist and patient they shouldn’t be talking about your case, it wasn’t allowed. “I tried to dig deeper but she freaked out and called for Monaco.”

“Think he knows?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“I don’t think so,” Sam answered. “From my research and talking to him, he just seems like a normal psychiatrist. And a pretty good one at that. Everyone I talked to, patients and employees alike only had good things to say about him. Bobby must’ve known what he was doing when he brought her here.”

Bobby? Now they were talking about Bobby? Could that be the same mysterious “Bob” who had saved you seven years ago? What the hell was going on?

“Why would demons hold a girl hostage for sixteen years?” Dean wondered aloud, and you perked your ears up, knowing they were digging deeper and not wanting to think what it would mean for you. Though his questions and their conversation did rule out that they were demons too, if they were wondering how demons thought. “What’s so special about her?”

“Here, take a look at this,” Sam said and you heard the shuffling of papers. There was silence as they presumably read over something and you figured they were looking at your file.

“Taken out of an abusive home when she was sixteen,” Dean read out loud. “Found chained to the floor, severe malnutrition and extensive injuries consistent with physical and…” he trailed off. “Sexual abuse.” You heard him take a deep breath. “Fucking demons. There were five other people in the house, all dead by the time the cops got there. One of them had been burnt to a crisp.”

“Y/N was the only survivor?” Dean said and you imagined Sam nodding.

“It’s consistent with Bobby and Rufus’ notes,” Sam said and you gulped. “They went in, exercised four demons, but one got away, leaving her meatsuit behind. They found Y/N chained in the basement. She told the doctor that she was held by two people named Avoth and Seir, and a few others with weird names like that—that she was forced to hurt people as part of some kind of experiment.” Sam said lowly.

“Sounds vaguely demonic,” Dean considered. “You look into it?”

"Yeah,” Sam told him. “Far as I can tell there was no Avoth or Seir or any other person with a weird name in that house. Just a couple from Alberta that went missing more than two decades ago—Lorraine and Carl Bensen. The other two crazies were Fred Trollow and Arnold Graham. The other body—the one that was practically burned alive, was a beauty student named Maeve Carmichael.”

“So…what, was Y/N gonna be sacrifice number two?” Dean asked.

“I doubt it. Look, the autopsy showed that the couple—Mr. and Mrs. Bensen—are Y/N’s parents.” Sam told him and you heard Dean scoff.

“You’re kidding.”

“’Fraid not. Twenty-three years ago, Lorraine gave birth to a healthy baby girl named Rachel Elizabeth Bensen, checked out of the hospital two days later with her husband and daughter in tow and…disappeared.”

“Disappeared? Like moved?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think so. According to witnesses they didn’t take anything for themselves, just stuff for Rachel, and only the necessities. No stuffed animals or pacifiers, nothing.”

“Maybe they were running from someone? Or something?” Dean offered and Sam sighed.

“Yeah maybe…do you think—“

“Y/N?” someone called your name from down the hall, causing you to jump and knock over a trash bin outside Dean’s door.

You turned to see Carter walking down the hallway, his form oddly dark as only the emergency lights were still on this time of night, making him look slightly menacing. Sam and Dean rushed out of Dean’s room, having obviously heard the crash and looked at you oddly. You just hoped they hadn’t realized you were listening to their conversation.

“You okay?” Sam asked and you nodded, righting the fallen trash can.

“Sleep-walking I guess.” It was a half-assed excuse but they didn’t say anything.

“Okay everyone, lights out is in ten minutes,” Carter said as he reached the three of you. “Dr. Smith you can hand in your visitor’s badge at the front desk downstairs.”

“Of course,” Sam said, nodding to Dean before shooting you an odd look and walking towards the elevators.

Carter made sure Dean’s door was closed before he led you down to your room.

“I thought you and Brett were going out of town,” you said but Carter just closed your door and pulled the small privacy screen down over the little window.

“Change of plans,” he said oddly. “Something more…important came up.”

“More important than your husband’s family?” you demanded. It wasn’t like Carter to blow off Brett for work, and he hadn’t indicated anything being wrong between them. “And since when do you work the night shift?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Carter growled, and there was something off about him. His voice was too low, his shoulders too tense.

“Carter what’s going—“ you started to ask but stopped abruptly as Carter turned towards you and your heart nearly stopped at what you saw.

Carter’s eyes were _black_.


	5. Chapter 5

It didn’t even occur to you that you could scream, or cry for help. After all, when a patient with religious ideation starts screaming that her nurse is possessed by a demon, it isn’t like they’ll take the patient’s side in that story. Besides, you knew firsthand what demons could do, and you weren’t about to put anyone else in danger—Carter included.

Truthfully you probably should’ve been more shocked, but in all honesty, you’d been waiting for this day for a while now. Demons didn’t exactly give up very easily, and you knew Andras was still out there, and he was probably looking for you. It had taken you a while to stop being afraid that every new person who walked in the room was a monster or demon, intent on taking you back to Andras and the hell you’d been living. Eventually that fear mellowed and you were able to control it, but you supposed seven years was enough of a break and now they were coming to collect.

“Who are you?” you demanded, and Carter grinned. The evil smirk looked odd on his kind face.

“We haven’t met, but I’ve known about you for a long time, Asa.”

The use of your old name made you cringe, but you tried to hide it, not wanting to show fear.

“Did Andras send you?” It was the only thing that made sense, and Carter nodded.

“He’s been looking for you for a long time.” He said, and you didn’t doubt it. “He misses you.”

That almost made you laugh. “Yeah right. All he misses is what I could do for him. He just wanted to use me.”

“No!” Carter said and took a step towards you, causing you to back up into the bedframe. “He wanted to train you, to show you your true potential, help you achieve your destiny.”

“My _destiny_?” you demanded, laughing at the absurdity of his statement. Seven years ago, you would have believed him, that Andras wanted what was best for you, wanted to help you become stronger. But not now. Now you knew that if he’d really cared about you he _never_ would have put you through the things he did. “He just wanted to make me into a weapon, make me hurt people.”

“Please, we both know you enjoyed that.” Carter said knowingly and you went quiet, not wanting to start that conversation.

“How did you find me?” you asked, changing the topic.

Carter leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest casually, and it pained you to know what the real Carter was going through right now; not in control of his own mind or body, not able to do anything but sit and watch as this demon took possession of him.

“You tell me,” he said, but you had a hunch he was toying with you. When you didn’t speak he smirked at you. “Your powers are getting stronger aren’t they?”

You gulped and averted your eyes, which seemed to be answer enough for him.

“You see, Asa—“ there was that name again. The name you’d tried long to forget. “When there’s a power surge like that…demons can feel it. Doesn’t matter how far away it is, or how small, it changes the flow of energy that we can all feel. I was the closest so Andras sent me to…investigate. Boy was I surprised to find you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You wished your voice was tougher, but right now your fear was kicking in, and you were reverting back to the person you were so long ago, you could feel it.

“Don’t you?” Carter teased and pushed off the wall, walking towards you slowly. “The bird.” He said knowingly, coming closer with every step, slow and predatory. “You healed it.”

“I didn’t _do_ _anything_.” you both knew it was a lie, but you didn’t want to give in that easily.

“Oh yes you did.” Carter was practically leaning over you now, pushing you back against the bedframe. “Something you’ve never done before. And I’ll bet…that scares you a little bit. Doesn’t it?”

“It scares me a hell of a lot less than what Andras made me do.” You spat at Carter but he hardly seemed phased by your anger.

“But at least with Andras you had a teacher, right?” he pressed. “Someone to explain what was happening? Help you control it?”

“Andras’ idea of helping me was chaining me to the floor and _beating_ me when his little ‘experiments’ didn’t turn out the way he wanted.” Anger was replacing the fear, which probably wasn’t going to turn out well for you, but at this point you didn’t care. “He made me _torture and_ _kill_ _people_!”

Carter shocked you by lunging at you and trapping you between his arms as he gripped the rickety rail at the end of the bed, his face just inches from yours.

“And we both know you fucking _loved_ it.” He growled and you did the only thing you could think of, and spat in his face. Instantly, his hand went around your throat and he squeezed tightly, cutting off your airway. Though your instinct was to hurt him in any way to get him off of you, you reminded yourself that that was Carter in there, and this wasn’t his fault.

As you struggled against his hold, panic rose up in you and the lights started to flicker. You were not going to die like this, not after all you’d been through, and especially not at the hands of your only friend. You grabbed Carter’s wrist and somehow managed to loosen his grip, getting enough oxygen to take a breath. When you did, you gathered the strength to shove your hand outward, causing him to fly backwards, hitting the wall with a thud. However, he just laughed at you as he stood up.

“Okay, guess we’ll do this the hard way.” He said and put out his hand, but just as he did the door to your room was kicked open and you both turned to see Dean of all people looking ready for a fight. Before he could do anything though, Carter just winked at you and opened his mouth. A plume of black smoke erupted from his mouth and went out of the air vent on the ceiling, leaving Carter’s crumpled body behind on the floor.

“Carter!” you cried, rushing to him and kneeling down next to him. Luckily his pulse was strong, and he was coughing so at least he was alive. However, by the fear and confusion in his eyes you knew he had been awake while that was all happening. 

“Don’t!” he cried, terrified. “Don’t touch me!”

You immediately backed off, holding your hands up and scooting back.

“You okay?” Dean asked you but you pointed to Carter.

“I’m not the one that was possessed.” You said and Carter’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“ _Possessed?!_ ” he demanded and you shrugged.

“By a demon,” Dean said and your eyes flashed to him. “From Hell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Carter breathed and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, not really.”

“It…it _knew_ you.” Carter said, looking at you and you nodded.

“I hadn’t met him before,” you said. “But there’s a lot of demons I never met that knew about me.”

“You know _more_ demons?” Carter was clearly having trouble grasping this and you couldn’t blame him—though you hardly knew how to comfort him about it all.

“Carter, hey Carter look at me.” Dean said and Carter turned to him, sweating and breathing hard. “Demons are real. They’re mean and scary as hell, and you just got possessed by one. But you’re okay, you made it out alive.”

“It…I couldn’t control myself.” Carter said, running his hands through his hair. “I could see everything but I…I couldn’t make myself move. Oh God, Y/N I almost killed you!” he said and looked at you apologetically.

“He wouldn’t have killed me,” you told him, hoping it would calm him down. “He wanted to take me back.” Your stomach twisted in knots as you said it.

“Back?” Dean asked and you nodded but didn’t elaborate, instead turning to Carter.

“You should go home, be with Brett.” You told him but Carter just blanched.

“And put him in danger?” he demanded. “No way! I’m not bringing this shit home!”

Dean spoke up. “I can help with that. You got a pad of paper?”

Carter nodded and took a notepad out of his pocket, handing it and pen to Dean, who started to draw.

“This is called a Devil’s Trap.” He explained as he drew. “Traps demons inside. Paint it at all the entrances and exits of your house, no demons allowed inside.”

To his credit, Carter just nodded. “And if I get possessed again?” you could tell he was afraid to ask.

“That’s what this is for,” Dean said, drawing something on the back of the paper. “Get it tattooed as soon as you can, keeps the demons out.”

You’d never seen that before, and wondered if it would protect you as well, not that they had any reason to possess you. Carter still looked shaken—you couldn’t blame him—but after some coaxing from Dean he agreed to go home and see his husband. Before he left he stopped at stared at you, as though seeing you for the first time.

“You were telling the truth about everything weren’t you?”

You just shrugged. “I don’t blame you for not believing me.”

Carter shook his head and stared at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. It wasn’t exactly common for nurses and patients to hug, so you were a bit taken aback but he held on to you like he was trying to ground himself and truthfully, you couldn’t remember a time when you were hugged like this…or at all. The comfort it provided was shocking. For years you’d learned that physical contact wasn’t meant to feel good, wasn’t supposed to do anything but hurt. It almost brought you to tears, how tightly and somehow gently Carter was holding you.  

“I’m so sorry,” Carter whispered in your ear and you returned the hug before he pulled back, wiping a tear from his cheek. “What about you two?” he asked, looking between you and Dean. “What if it comes back?”

“Don’t worry about us,” Dean said, patting Carter on the shoulder. “We’re covered. Go home, take care of your husband.”

Carter nodded, looked at you with sympathy and then left. You and Dean stood in silence for a what felt like an eternity, neither of you knowing what to say. In the aftermath of the attack the adrenaline was leaving your body and you were suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Part of you wanted Dean to leave, so you could sleep and pretend like none of this had happened, but you knew realistically that wasn’t an option. You sunk down onto the bed and dropped your head in your hands.

“You okay?” Dean asked quietly and you shook your head, trying to hide your shaking hands. When you didn’t answer Dean spoke again. “Who was he?”

“I told you, I didn’t know him.” You answered, not looking at him. “Just that he works for Andras.”

“Andras?” Dean repeated. “Who is that?”

“You read my file, you should know the answer to that.” It came out harsher than you meant it to, but in all honesty you were still pissed that he and Dr. Smith—if that was even his real name—had invaded your privacy like that.  

Dean, shockingly, didn’t seem embarrassed by the fact you knew he’d read your file, he just repeated the question. Knowing he wouldn’t let it go, you answered hesitantly—still attempting to keep some things secret.

“Big bad demon who raised me.” You deadpanned, still avoiding eye contact. “I don’t remember my real parents, just the demons who possessed their bodies. Andras wouldn’t let me talk about them, and after a while I stopped asking. He always told me that they were my family.”

“They?” Dean asked and you nodded.

“Andras had…babysitters, for me.” You explained. “Sitri was the main one, especially when I was younger, but Avoth and Seir were there too, but none of them were exactly nurturing.”

“They were all demons?” you shrugged at his question.

“I assume so.”

“What did Andras want with you?” Dean asked, and you laughed.

“He hated that question. He would just tell me to wait, that it would make sense eventually.”

Dean rephrased the question. “What did he make you do?”

“ _Awful_ things,” was all you said, not wanting to go into detail, and luckily Dean didn’t press. “They always told me that he was ‘training’ me. Preparing me for something.”

“Sweetheart in my experience when a demon is preparing you for something…that’s never a good thing.”

“No shit,” you spat but reminded yourself that this wasn’t his fault. “He’ll be back, or Andras will send someone else now that he knows where I am.” Panic rose up in your throat and you almost threw up. Your chest felt tight and you couldn’t breathe correctly. Dr. Monaco had told you that panic attacks were common for people who’d been through trauma like yours, but knowing what was happening oddly didn’t make it any easier when you were in the thick of it. Dean noticed what was happening and hurried over, holding his hands out but not touching you.

“Hey, hey just breathe.” he told you, his voice steady and even. “Look they aren’t going to get to you, okay? Let me call my brother and get him down here and we can protect you.”

“Your brother?” you asked through a raspy breath. “How can he help?”

"We have experience with this kind of stuff.” Dean told you and something clicked together in your head—but you didn’t let it show quite yet, not wanting to jump the gun.

“Hate to break it to you but tomorrow is Monday,” you told Dean. “No visitors on weekdays.”

Dean waved you off. “Won’t be a problem, he won’t be here as a visitor.” When you looked at him in confusion he scratched the back of his neck. “That doctor that you talked to earlier? Dr. Smith? Well he isn’t actually a shrink…he’s my brother, Sam.”

That realization confirmed your earlier thoughts about these two, but you didn’t let the recognition show, you just nodded and sighed.

“Awesome, and once your bro gets here how do you presume we stop Andras?”

“Like I said we have experience with this kind of stuff,” Dean repeated.

“Let me guess, you aren’t really here because you’ve been hearing voices are you?”

Dean grinned at you. “You catch on quick.”

You waited for him to elaborate, knowing he wouldn’t. “You gonna give me anything else to go on? If I’m going to trust you I’m gonna need more than ‘we have experience’ y’know.”

Dean just scratched the back of his neck. “Need to know, darling. But I promise we’ll keep you safe from Andras, or whatever Hell-bitch he throws your way.”

Though you wanted to pressure him into telling you what you were fairly certain you already knew, you just nodded. Truthfully you were still extremely wary of him and his motives, but so far he’d proven himself trustworthy—except for the reading of your file of course, but you couldn’t deny that if you had the chance to read his you would. Clearly, he and his brother knew more about demons and monsters than anyone else in this ward, so they were your best bet at steering clear of Andras and his minions. So you nodded and prepared yourself to be on guard for the next week or so, ready for anything that could come your way, and for the possibility that you would be faced with some of the most evil beings you’d ever encountered.

“So,” you asked him steadily. “What’s the plan?”


	6. Chapter 6

You hadn’t even finished your breakfast when Dean plopped down next to you, his tray clattering against the plastic-pretending-to-be-wood of the table. When you didn’t readily say anything to him he flung a piece of toast at you and you glared at him.

“Not a morning person, huh?” he guessed and you just glared, scooping up some cereal and shoveling it in your mouth. “Sam should be here soon.” He said, taking a bite of his stale toast before grimacing at it and tossing it back on the tray.

“How do you know so much about demons and Devil’s Traps?” while you knew he probably wouldn’t answer, you weren’t going to give up easily. There was something off about this man and his mysterious brother who had just shown up when things were starting to go bat-shit again and you were damn-sure going to get to the bottom of it.

“Experience.” Dean said simply and you rolled your eyes.

“What kind of person just _has_ _experience_ with demons?”

Dean chuckled and pointed his fork at you. “You’re one to talk sister, I’m not the one with a price on my head.”

“Give it another month, Dean, I’m sure that’ll change.” A voice said behind you and you turned to see Dr. Smith, or rather _Sam_ approaching. “Hey, Y/N.” he greeted you with a smile. “I’m guessing Dean filled you in?”

You nodded and wondered if he’d be pissed at you for the way you yelled at him the last time you’d interacted but didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it too much, trying to keep a clear enough headspace to find out as much as you could about these two. Dean filled Sam in on the events from the night before, letting him know about the demon possessing Carter, knowing who you were, and how Andras had sent him.

“How did he know you were here?” Sam asked you.

“He said there was an energy shift or something.” You answered, knowing where this was heading and not sure if you were ready for that yet. “Said the demons could feel it and Andras just sent whoever was closest, who happened to be him.”

“Andras?” Sam asked and you nodded but Dean answered for you.

“Head honcho demon who kidnapped Y/N when she was a kid.”

“Good to know,” Sam said, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“Look, Y/N, if we’re going to work together we need to know as much about Andras as you can tell us.” Dean said and though you realized he was right you were still hesitant to tell them about Andras or really anything that had taken place in that house.

You shrugged and Dean huffed, clearly frustrated with your lack of an answer. Sam however, was more patient.

“Your file said the police found you when you were sixteen, right?” Sam questioned and you nodded. “So, what’s your earliest memory, do you remember how you got to the house?”

You shook your head, that was a question you could answer at least, as it was one of the first that Dr. Monaco asked you so long ago.

_“Can you tell me your name?” the man asked._

_You said nothing, struggling against the strange white jacket that prevented you from moving your arms._

_“What about the people you were with? Can you tell me their names?” his questions were pointless, but he didn’t know that._

_The silence continued, and you counted the cracks in the wallpaper._

_“How about I start?” he offered. “My name is Doctor Jason Monaco. I’m a psychiatrist, do you know what that means?”_

_You didn’t, but you didn’t answer, and he continued anyway._

_“It means I’m here to help you.”_

_That made you scoff, but you didn’t do so out loud._

_“I understand you’ve been hurt.” Doctor Monaco said carefully. “I’m sorry for that. Can you tell me who hurt you?”_

_Though you still declined to answer, it didn’t seem to bother this Doctor Monaco, and you wondered how many other people he’d seen like this. Hurt, angry, terrified, declining to speak._

_“Was it your parents?”_

_You stayed quiet._

_“Where are your parents?”_

_Silence._

_"Were your parents in the house today?" he asked, and the woman in the police uniform behind him narrowed her eyes. “How old are you?” the doctor persisted asked._

_You just stared at him, wondering how difficult it would be to snap his neck. That’s what Andras would tell you to do, to kill these people and get the hell out of dodge. You were more than capable of doing so, but where would you go? Seir, Avoth and Sitri were probably dead, and if they weren’t they wouldn’t be happy that you’d gotten yourself caught. Did you really want to go back to them? Andras hadn’t been in the house when those two men had burst in, and there was no way of telling where he was or if he would come for you. No…at this point your best option was to stay put, and learn what you could._

_The doctor sighed and put down his clipboard, opting instead to lean forward and speak to you directly._

_“I’m sorry we had to restrain you,” he said, and he almost sounded sincere. “I’m sure you’re sick of being tied up.”_

_That made you roll your eyes. You’d been tied up your entire life, both literally and figuratively, it made no difference now—and you knew they were doing it for their own safety. After all, you’d nearly killed a few of them when they brought you in._

_“When the police found you, you were chained up in the basement of the house. Can you tell me how you got there?”_

_Now there was a question that stumped you. How exactly_ had _you gotten to that house? You’d been there for as long as you could remember, trapped with the various faces that filtered through. Ever since you were a child, that had been where you’d lived. Or perhaps_ existed _was a better word, since what went on in that house could hardly be classified as living._

_“I…don’t know.” You whispered, staring at the fraying rug on the ground. “I can’t remember.”_

_Doctor Monaco tried to hide the surprise in his face when you spoke and nodded slowly._

_“Okay, that’s okay. Can you tell me what you do remember?”_

_There was a lot that you remembered about that house. The way the wind whistled through the fireplace at night, how cold it got in winter, the way the third stair from the top would creak…the near constant smell of blood drying on the floor._

_“I was always there.” It was the truth, but you weren’t sure if you should proceed, or if you even wanted to. You’d never spoken to anyone outside of your “family” in sixteen years. It was odd to say the least._

_The doctor wrote something down. “And the other people? Were they always there too?”_

_You though back. “Sitri and Avoth were there from the beginning. Seir and Andras came later…”_

_"Those are very unique names,” The doctor said, obviously trying to hide his intrigue. “But you see, the people in that house, they had different names.”_

_"Those were the names of their meatsuits.” Doctor Monaco’s eyes widened slightly at your wording. “I never knew them by those names.”_

_"What do you mean by meatsuits?” he asked carefully._

_His tone made you fall silent. Of course, you’d said too much. The doctor was very good at his job, and he’d gotten you to open up before you even realized you were doing so. You bit into your lip until you drew blood, letting the pain ground you. Over the years you’d gotten very good at controlling your emotions, thanks to Andras’ training, but with all the excitement that had transpired in the past two days, it was becoming more difficult. Knowing you’d be punished for saying too much once Andras found you, you sat back in your seat and refused to open your mouth again._

“I don’t remember being anywhere else,” it was the truth, but it tasted sour coming past your lips, bringing up horrid memories. “I grew up in that house.”

“The autopsy showed that two of the people in the house where you were found were your biological parents. Do you remember them?” Sam pressed, looking over his notes which you assumed were from your file. He pulled out pictures too, autopsy photos from the house, photos of Sitri and Avoth, back when they were still human and what looked like crime scene photos form the day you were found.

You shook your head. “I knew them by the names Sitri and Avoth. And these two,” you pointed to two of the other pictures. “That’s Seir. And this is…” you swallowed. “That’s Andras. He was in charge.”

Sam nodded, writing names in sharpie on each of the photos.

“And the girl? Maeve? Did you know her?”

You shook your head, not able to look at the coroner’s photo of her charred body. “She was just unlucky victim of the week. I think Seir picked her. He took a few runs at her before they brought me in. I didn’t mind. He usually used me for that.”

They were clearly uncomfortable with the nonchalance with which you spoke. But after so many years, things like Seir assaulting some random girl off the street instead of you, didn’t really faze you anymore. Yes, it still bothered you and would haunt you until your last breath, but there was a time when that kind of thing had become so normalized, that you tried not to dwell on it so much now that you were free. You didn’t want to give them that kind of power over you anymore. The only recognition they gave of hearing what you’d said was a shared look between them before Sam continued as though you hadn’t spoken—though you were sure they wouldn’t leave that stone unturned.

“When they ‘brought you in’…” Sam asked carefully. “What did they have you do?”

“Hurt people mostly.” The answer was quick, easy. You hated yourself for it, but it was the truth and you couldn’t do anything to change it now. “They wanted to see how much control I had, how well I could control my abilities.”

“Abilities? What are you, part of the X-men?” the way Dean said it seemed like a joke but you just frowned.

"What?” you asked but Dean just shook his head, clearly deciding that explaining the reference wouldn’t be worth it. Sam asked you to clarify and you bit your lip. “At first it was just little things. I could move something across the room without touching it, that kind of stuff. One time I got a cut on my arm and it healed almost instantly, and that’s when they started their…experiments.”

“Experiments?” Sam almost seemed afraid to ask you to clarify.

“They wanted to see how fast I would heal,” you said. “So, they started to hurt me, more than they used to at least. They’d cut me with dull blades and sharp blades to see which healed faster, or how deep they could cut without killing me. They’d burn me with matches and acid and just watch the burns until they scabbed over, stuff like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. No one deserves that.” Sam said quietly.

His apology made you slightly uncomfortable and you brushed it off. “I never knew any different.”

Sam shook his head. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Why’d they take you anyway?” Dean asked through a mouthful off food. “I mean, how’d they know you have powers?” he swallowed when Sam gave him a look of disgust.

“Andras said my parents weren’t supposed to have me. That I was an abomination and I should’ve been tossed into the deepest pit of Hell the moment I was born.” You said bluntly and they looked shocked.

"Sounds like real A+ parenting right there.” Dean said and Sam scolded him.

"Do you remember anything about your birth parents? Maybe if we knew more about them we could find out why Andras took you.” Sam asked and you shook your head, sure that they were getting tired of your lack of answers.

“Andras wouldn’t let me ask about them. He told me they were traitors and that I was better off without them.”

“And no one ever came looking for you?” Dean asked. “I mean your file just says your parents left the hospital and disappeared. There must have been a missing person's report filed. Three people don't just go off the grid without people noticing.”

"If her parents were the ones who left, they wouldn’t have a need to file a missing persons report, Dean.” Sam said. “My best guess is that your real parents tried to run away from whatever or whoever wanted you, but they just couldn’t run fast or far enough.”

"Andras used to tell me that all the time. ‘Go ahead and run, Asa. There’s nowhere on this planet you can go that I won’t find you.’ And apparently he was right.”

“Asa?” Sam asked quietly.

“That’s what they used to call me. I don’t know why. I only ever knew my birth name when I got here, but it never felt right.”

"So, who picked Y/N?” Dean asked and you frowned.

“I did. I didn’t want a name that tied me to anyone else. Not Rachel, not Asa. Y/N. I wanted to choose who I was.”

"It suits you,” Sam said, smiling kindly at you and you lost yourself in another memory.

_“It’s good to see you again, Rachel.” The doctor said._

_“That isn’t my name.” you hissed, eyes flitting around the room._

_“It’s the name your parents gave you when you were born. Or do you prefer…” he looked at his notes. “Asa?” you tensed and your eyes flashed up to him. “That’s what they called you didn’t they?”_

_“They called me a lot of things,” you growled. “Whore, scum, and abomination being among the most popular.”_

_“You don’t want to be called Asa?” he asked and your glare was answer enough. “What about Rachel? It’s the name your parents gave you.”_

_“My parents did_ nothing _for me. I never even knew them.”_

_“What do you mean?” he asked and you rolled your shoulders, not liking being in this small room, answering his stupid questions._

_"They betrayed their families. So Avoth and Seir killed them."_

_“They were in the house with you, weren’t they? Your parents?”_

_“Just their bodies. Sitri and Avoth were using them.”_

_He looked up at you and wrote something down._

_"You’ve mentioned those names before. Who are they?”_

_"They were the watchers. Sitri was my carer and Andras was the Head."_

_"So Andras was in charge?"_

_That made you fidget, and your wrists tickled with phantom pain; you weren’t used to not being shackled for this long. "They were all in charge of me. But the others were afraid of him."_

_"Were you afraid of him?"_

_That puzzled you, the honest answer was yes, you'd been scared of him your entire life. But there was an odd sense of...camaraderie with him that you didn't have with the others, and if you were to liken the relationship to anything, it would be to that of a father and daughter. Though, seeing as how you'd never known your own father, you weren't completely sure what that entailed._

_"He...took care of me." you said quietly, your eyebrows creasing. "Kept me safe."_

_"Is he the one who chained you to the floor?"_

_The question made you angry, and you tensed up, remembering the scalding water being thrown on you, the screams inside of your head, and Avoth dragging you downstairs and chaining you to the floor yet again._

_"That was my fault. I disobeyed."_

_"And when you disobeyed…Andras would punish you?” He asked and you nodded. “I promise that we won’t punish you here. You’re safe here.”_

_That made you chuckle darkly. “You’re not.”_

_“You don’t scare me, Rachel.”_

_“Stop calling me that!” you screamed._

_Instead of getting angry at your outburst like Andras would have, the doctor calmly closed his notes and went to the bookshelf, where he picked up a book and placed in front of you._

_“I picked this up for you. I thought you might find it helpful.”_

_Hesitantly, you picked up the book and read the title aloud. “101 Baby Names.” You said quietly and the doctor smiled._

_“Since you don’t want to be called Rachel or Asa, I thought you’d like to pick out a name for yourself. Why don’t you take it with you and you can let me know when you’ve chosen one?”_

_With that he left you alone, having an orderly take you back to your room, where you poured over the book for hours, until finally around dinner time the doctor knocked on your door and you looked up at him._

_“Y/N.” you said, answering his unasked question. “I like Y/N.”_

_He smiled and walked towards you, holding out his hand to shake yours. “Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”_

“Well I gotta say, Y/N—“ Dean was saying when you snapped yourself back to reality. “I gotta give you major credit. I don’t know anyone else who could live with that many black-eyed bitches and come out the other side.”

“Not all of them had black eyes…” you admitted and they frowned. “Sitri was different. She—“ you took a deep breath, all of this was too much.

“She what, Y/N?” Sam asked quietly.

“Her eyes weren’t black.” You said and he leaned forward slightly, clearly intrigued. 

“What color were her eyes Y/N?”

“Blue.” You said. “They glowed blue.”


End file.
